Dementia
by kurama-sweethart
Summary: She feels so surreal and beautiful, as if she's just a dream and soon he'll be waking up to disappointment. [TimJennyMarina]


_Dementia_  
by Kurama-Sweethart

One-sided Tim/Jenny and Jenny/Marina

First L-Word fic. Written on a wave of inspiration.

856 meaningless words of deceit and violent daydreams.

* * *

He watches her through the glass of the old garage that now doubles as her studio; watches her with the same curiosity and wonderment of a child with a new goldfish. She seems so surreal and beautiful, as if she's just a dream and soon he'll be waking up to a disappointment.

_Marina traces her tongue along the sharp line of her jaw, dancing her fingers along the soft flesh stretched across her back and tastes the betrayal dripping from her veins. Jenny moans from down in her stomach and clenches Marina's hair, pulls her closer… like she might disappear._

He greets her that morning with a kiss and a sweet smile, petting her head and lingering over her lips too long. She's got this sly, distant air about her today (he's found that every morning is a new feeling, a new aura for her) and she runs her fingers through his hair. "Mmm" she hums, the soft tenor of her voice elating him like the smoke of a dangerous and addicting drug. She shrugs off her nightshirt and graces his flesh with her presence. She's euphoric.

_"What will you do if he finds us?" Marina asks cautiously, daring not glance over her shoulder at the window… and yet knowing in her mind that she should...should look and see and hide from the deceit that smothers them. Jenny stiffens and runs her cold fingers across Marina's breast, applying pressure around the nipple. She exhales and her eyes flutter behind their lids._

Her mouth is warm and dry, and Tim sucks on her lip gently. There's too much here, it's too heavy and he feels like he can't breathe. He doesn't need to. She breathes for him.

_They embellish their stories with far too much detail. _He hears around him. _Lies lies lies… pretty lies of love and commitment. This isn't who you are, Jenny. _The voice is chilling and almost frightening. He pauses, and she follows his suit.

He can hear the voice loud and clear but strangely… he can't seem to identify its owner. It's like silk over velvet, a low, animalistic purr that resonates in his mind. Her lips and hands and body are moving, pressing her flesh and her _life _against him… and yet he couldn't feel more cold and alone and there's something heavy pulling against his insides, flopping them around like dying fish on a riverbank. Bile rises in his throat.

He's terrified.

_Marina slips three perfect, slender fingers into her and Jenny feels whole and complete and a high unlike anything she's ever experienced settles into her body and germinates. The roots wind and slither through her mind and the world stops around them. They are one._

_One…one being in a world of no-ones._

_But Marina could never be a no-one. She's too immortal for that._

Guilt is a heavy, sluggish creature that sleeps and stirs and awakens within his gut. Tim touches her face with his hands and all he feels is air and his newly washed sheets. Not her. Not anyone.

No one.

What did she do to deserve this? His mind screams in time with her moans. She feels incomplete, broken and missing. He feels distant, angry and cold.

Sex is upon them.

She arches her back and takes him deeper into her, pulsing all around him. His eyes flutter but he can't feel pleasure… only desire that is no deeper than sex or her hands on his chest or her empty, black eyes. He's found that she is a brilliant actor, a beautiful piece of artwork. She shouldn't be under him as a woman or a wife, his mind urges; she should be a trophy on his mantle, polished and shined and meaningless.

_Marina looks down at her with unreadable eyes, licks her lips and is suddenly only a mass of hair between her legs. Jenny gasps and everything is too bright and too real. Nothing is meaningless here. Lies drip across her face, declaring her sin with dark, thick colors that polish her lips and eyes._

_She's blinded and yet… it's meaningless._

Tim can't feel her; he can't see her… he can't remember if she exists, or if she's a dream. _Jennyjennyjennyjenny._

There's nothing underneath him but clean sheets and an empty bed.

_This isn't who she is, the voice continues, deep and velvet and laced with sex. She is I and I am she and we are someone in a world of no-ones._

He can hear Marina's voice from the kitchen, and he sprints into the room in a tangled mess of sheets and limbs and emptiness.

He can hear her voice from outside, from the air from the sky from the trees and grass and then he realizes that she is inside him.

He watches her through the glass of the old garage that now doubles as her studio; watches her with the same creeping horror of a witness to a hideous crime. She's empty and cold and he reaches out to her but all he gets is Marina's low-tenor voice and dirty sheets in his hands.


End file.
